


Significance Of Light

by kcstories



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, au-ish, canon divergence season 1, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-17
Updated: 2010-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wakes up after another mishap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Significance Of Light

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written in December 2008 as a gift for tacitus_3, who requested Arthur/Merlin and the prompt 'Merlin doing magic'.  
> Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.  
> Warnings: AU-ish (season one era). Bit of flangst.

Arthur squints one weary eye open, only to immediately shut it again.

Good Lord; the light! There is so much bloody light in the room. Whoever gave the sun permission to be so glaringly bright at this ungodly hour of the morning?

It is still early morning, isn't it?

Arthur struggles to think, tries desperately to remember, but he keeps drawing a complete blank, and if he doesn't stop his efforts soon, he'll give himself a splitting headache.

No. Never mind. His head already hurts. 

It suddenly occurs to him that his knees do as well. Did he scrape them? 

Perhaps he fell off his horse, hit his head and is suffering from some kind of concussion. That might explain the memory loss, too.

Psh! Rubbish! He's an excellent rider, and he's the crown prince to boot. He'd never do something as common as fall off a horse. That's simply unheard of. Whatever would his father say?

"Sire? Shall I draw the curtains?"

Hm, that sounds suspiciously like Merlin's voice. _How peculiar,_ Arthur ponders. _Or is it?_

No, actually, the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Whatever happened to him, the reason why he's even here, and in such a questionable state, is all Merlin's fault. It must be; random, unexplained occurrences of the less than pleasant variety usually are. 

Honestly, Merlin is the worst manservant Arthur has ever had. Arthur doesn't even know why he keeps him around, really; the fellow is clumsy, dresses like a pauper—and a colour-blind one at that—and worst of all, he actually talks back; the very _nerve_, honestly!

Arthur is about to add more to his inner rant, a lot more because the annoyances with Merlin never end, when suddenly, he remembers.

He was out hunting. A deer darted across the frozen lake. He followed it, of course. On foot. The animal wouldn't get far, not in such slippery conditions; this hunt couldn't possibly fail. 

Arthur's triumphant grin fast turned into a worried frown, however, when he heard an ominous creak that was quickly followed by voices in the distance yelling something about thin ice and water and "Careful, Sire! It's too dangerous! Please reconsider…"

Their advice came too late, assuming he would have listened.

He was already lost to the world; sinking. Everything was wet and freezing cold. It was getting harder to breathe. His vision blurred. He was losing consciousness, slowly sliding deeper into lethal oblivion, until…. 

A jolt went through him. Bright light flashed in front of his eyes. He was wide-awake once more. His limbs were tingling with something that felt like… magic.

_No!_

Arthur's eyes fly open. In his shock, the bright light is no longer bothersome. "What happened?" he asks, his tone uncharacteristically grave and sober. 

"Y-You fell, Sire, through the ice; we were out hunting and you went after this deer and the ice didn't hold and…"

Arthur frowns. "You helped me to safety, didn't you?" he ventures carefully.

Merlin, to Arthur's immense consternation, blushes furiously, right to the tips of his oversized ears. "Yeah, I-I did."

"It's always the same with you, isn't it, Merlin?" Arthur tries to joke. "Either you save my life or you jump at the chance to die for me. It's getting to be a tad predictable, you know." 

Merlin smiles—a smile that seems genuine enough—and yet they can both sense that something here hasn't been settled. 

Much is left unspoken between them and will probably remain so for a quite a while, because Arthur thinks he…

He might just remember. 

His numb, frozen limbs turned warm in less than seconds, and there were no signs of frostbite or other discomfort. 

Merlin's eyes held a strange glow and from his lips words fell, uttered in an old language Arthur never learned to speak, though he knows its name and understands its significance and possible implications.

Arthur swallows hard.

"A-Are you all right, Sire?" Merlin breaks the awkward silence.

Arthur nods slowly, willing himself to get a grip. He isn't thinking clearly. He must have misheard something. Merlin, although well meaning, has never been the sharpest sword in the smithy. He could never manage something as complicated as magic. And he's too nice—too honest, altruistic and innocent by far—to be a sorcerer.

"I just need some more rest, I think," Arthur replies, his voice hoarse and unusually shaky.

"Yeah," Merlin agrees, "lots of rest; Gaius said so as well."

Arthur closes his eyes. He's vaguely aware of a chair being pushed closer to his bed. Then he hears a nervous cough and a warm, soft hand covers his own.

Arthur knows he should probably pull back. Things between him and Merlin are getting too chummy, possibly even more than merely chummy, and definitely too familiar to be proper.

Still, this is nice—comforting—and right now, loath as he is to admit it, Arthur needs the reassurance. 

_Nothing has changed,_ he silently tells himself. It couldn't have been magic, back at the lake. Magic, in its very essence, is evil, sordid and cruel. Merlin wouldn't hurt a fly.

Reassured, at least for the moment, Arthur drifts off to sleep, vaguely aware of the worried young man who'll diligently watch over him for the rest of the day and who still won't leave his side, come nightfall.


End file.
